


What Could Have Been

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: ''unrequited'' love, F/F, Idk this kinda got away from me, Lovelace tries to kill herself to escape, Suicide, it meanders a little sorry, part 2 will be a variation on this, set during out of the loop, this is part 1 of how things might have gone, uhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: The dark metal of the gun seems to suck in what little light filters in to the dimness of the lab, turning it into a pistol-shaped void in Lovelace’s hand, and she swallows hard despite herself. She’s used to holding weapons, to firing them, to the feel in her hand and the kickback and everything about them. This, though. This different.Lovelace knows, deep inside, that if it came down to it she could kill someone. She’s not so sure about herself.





	What Could Have Been

Day 1093, day 1093, day 1093, in a loop...

_In Groundhog Day, dying doesn’t stop the process. Bill Murray still comes back in the morning, still stays in the loop, still ends up living the day over and over again until he gets the girl. But since the girl in this case is married and the Dear Listeners likely aren’t going to care about your love life, it’s seriously doubtful that it will end the same as the film. So maybe killing yourself is worth a shot. After all, you’ll just come back if it doesn’t work._

These are the things Lovelace thinks about when she goes to cross the threshold into the remains of Selberg’s-- Hilbert’s-- _whoever’s_ lab, the one Hera can’t see into, the one covered in dust and cobwebs from those damn spiders and holding the last remains of the original Captain Lovelace’s voice. She had hated this room even when she didn’t know what was really going on with its occupant. Now… now, the whole thing just smells like death to her. Lovelace shakes off the thought and pushes herself about halfway through the entrance-- still a hole blown in the wall, they never did get that patched up-- but stops at the sound of Hera’s electronic voice. “Captain, where are you going?”

There’s a touch of annoyance in the question, but Hera doesn’t sound antagonistic. Mostly she just sounds confused. Lovelace sighs. “I’ll be right out, Hera. I just need a little bit of privacy. For once.”

When Hera speaks again Lovelace can practically hear her eyes rolling. “Fine, whatever you want. Just make sure that your “private time” isn’t too long, Captain.” The comms crackle off, and despite the seriousness of what she’s about to do Lovelace has to try very hard not to laugh. _Does Hera think I’m going in here to get off? Jesus Christ, AI’s got a dirty mind. Or maybe she’s just annoyed that I’m leaving my duties._ Lovelace shakes her head, shoves herself through the hole and solidly into the lab among the long-unused beakers and test-tubes and consoles, and pulls out the gun concealed within her clothing. _She has no idea._

The dark metal of the gun seems to suck in what little light filters in to the dimness of the lab, turning it into a pistol-shaped void in Lovelace’s hand, and she swallows hard despite herself. She’s used to holding weapons, to firing them, to the feel in her hand and the kickback and everything about them. This, though. This different.

Lovelace knows, deep inside, that if it came down to it she could kill someone. She’s not so sure about herself.

But…

…there are some things.

“You’re not real,” she whispers, and it feels good to put these thoughts in words, to finally spit the poison out, even if it rips at her core like claws. “You’re nothing but a failure. The only important things you’ve done-- the you here, this you, goddamn forged copy of Isabel Lovelace that you are-- the only things you’ve ever done that have had any impact were die, and die, and die. It’s what you’re good at. Or maybe--” Lovelace’s voice breaks, and she clears her throat, trying to continue the line of thought that is making the dark room close in around her and turning the gun into something that pulls at her like gravity. Making her throat close up. “Maybe,” she says, her voice quiet, “you’re very, very bad at it. You can’t seem to stay dead, after all. Not like Fisher could. Not like Hui, Lambert, Fourier. Rhea. Hell, even Selberg did that one last thing right. And now you’re all alone.” Lovelace’s vision blurs as bubbles of tears collect around her eyes, stinging them as her body shakes silently. Her voice wobbles, dropping into a hoarse whisper that nonetheless tears at her throat as if she were screaming. “I’m all alone. No one else knows what it’s like. And none of them will look me in the eye.”

Almost unconsciously, Lovelace moves her hand up and presses the barrel to her forehead in the same spot that Kepler shot her last time. The metal is cold against her skin, cold enough to seem like it burns.

It hurt, the last time she got shot. It hurt a lot, but not more than she could bear. Not the worst she had ever felt. And afterwards there was only darkness and silence, silence like sleep.

“It’s been so long since I slept,” Lovelace says into the unlit lab, talking only to herself and the ghosts. “Such a long, long time, and I’m so tired.” She blinks the tears out of her eyes, wiping them away with her free hand to leave tiny bubbles floating in the air nearby. She laughs, a strange, strangled noise. “Goodnight, everyone. See you in the morning.”

Minkowski’s voice pipes in unexpectedly from the entrance to the lab, and out of the corner of her eye Lovelace catches a glimpse of her floating there with her hair coming out of its bun, dark eyes wide. “Lovelace, what do you think you’re doing-- _Lovelace!”_ she yells, a half-second too late.

Isabel Lovelace pulls the trigger, and there’s a half-second of burning-hot pain before everything goes dark.

\---

And then she wakes up to the incessant beeping of the alarm, just like all the other times. Lovelace reaches out and slaps the alarm off, then spends a little while lying there, waiting. After a few moments Hera’s voice comes on.

“Morning, everyone. Welcome to day 1093. We can all look forward to _more_ repairs on the Urania…”

Hera continues with her speech, but Lovelace tunes her out, switching out the words she’s heard a thousand times with her own thoughts.

_Well, that didn’t work. What now?_

_...Minkowski._

Minkowski saw her die. Minkowski _saw_ her. In some universe, in some timeline, Lovelace subjected her to something no one should _ever_ have to see, and even if that person doesn’t exist anymore and that timeline and that world never happened she deserved at the very least an apology.

Lovelace slowly, slowly sits up, pushing herself out of bed. After a few minutes she’s dressed and as ready to start the day over as she’ll ever be. Before she heads out, she looks up to the ceiling, searching for Hera’s camera. “Hey, Hera?”

“Yes, Captain Lovelace?”

“Where’s Minkowski?”

There’s a long pause, then Hera speaks hesitantly. “She’s… in the engine room. Why?”

Lovelace doesn’t answer before heading out, her mind bubbling as she propels herself through the corridors. She’s almost glad, really, that the loop didn’t break with her last act. Relieved. The problems aren’t gone, but at least the memory of her mistake-- god, what a mistake, even if it felt kind of good to finally act on the feelings she had been suppressing-- is erased.

That’s still no excuse.

Lovelace turns down the corner and takes a breath before entering the engine room, gathering herself. Then she pushes herself forwards into the engine room, knocking on the wall as she does to make sure she doesn’t startle Minkowski. “Hey,” she says, her voice sounding strange among the sounds of machinery. “I’m here.”

“Lovelace?” The word makes her heart twang like a plucked string, just like hearing Minkowski say her name always does. Minkowski moves out from where she was working behind one of the engines to look at Lovelace, her brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you were going up to check on Eiffel and--”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence before Lovelace is moving, shoving herself forwards to fold her into a hug. Minkowski is not soft; she is all knees and elbows, made angular and sharp with the edges of her bones under her skin and clothing-- _when was the last time she had a decent meal?--_ but her skin is cool, a contrast to how hot Lovelace's blood runs. She smells clean, fresh out of her morning shower. Her hair is still slightly damp. “I’m sorry,” Lovelace whispers, her face pressed into Minkowski’s shoulder. “I'm so sorry. You deserved better.”

There’s a startled pause where Minkowski doesn’t seem to know what to do, and then she wraps her arms around Lovelace and pulls her closer until they’re body-to-body, practically crushing her with her strength. Lovelace’s heart beats faster, pounding against her ribcage as Minkowski speaks in a quiet murmur. “You did too, Captain. We still do.”

Despite her utter lack of understanding about what Lovelace is apologizing for, despite the things she doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, it’s the right thing to say. Lovelace hugs Minkowski to her tighter, as close as possible, any other words she was going to say catching in her throat. For a moment they stay like that, against each other. Then a bubble of repressed guilt rises in Lovelace’s chest because this is disingenuous of her. She can’t be doing this. This is Minkowski. Minkowski, who is… who was… Minkowski, who she is…

Lovelace pulls back, looking Minkowski directly in the deep brown of her eyes. “I love you,” she says, the words seeming to float in the air for an instant afterwards. Minkowski’s eyes widen. Before she has a chance to speak, Lovelace lets go of her, looking away from whatever Minkowski’s expression is. “We should get to work on this if we’re ever going to leave.”

“Captain…” Minkowski starts, then trails off.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. You’re right.”

And that’s the end of the conversation. That’s the end of any conversation for a long while, and the-- hundredth? Thousandth?-- rendition of day 1093 goes by on a humiliating, awkward note, silence a stark contrast to the sonic boom of the gunshot in the last loop. Despite the sinking feeling in Lovelace’s stomach, however, there’s a tiny bit of hope. Maybe this will end the time warp. It’s not getting the girl, but it is a confession. And if awkwardness is what it takes for freedom, then it’s a price Lovelace is willing to pay.

She goes to sleep almost excited, waiting to hear Hera’s voice in the morning heralding day 1094.

Instead, she is welcomed once more to day 1093.

_That’s that, then. You can never tell her how you feel, and you can’t die to escape. Maybe there’s no way out. Maybe you should just go to sleep instead, sleep and sleep and sleep throughout god knows how many of these loops. Just sleep._

Lovelace shoves herself up through her body’s scream of frustration and starts to get ready. There’s a long day ahead of her.

There always is.


End file.
